Curiosity Went to Hell
by TerminalClub
Summary: Helen has finally put the final nail in her coffin with her latest stunt. To think, all of this could've been avoided if she had just been a little less curious... (A series of one-shots that follow a sort-of plot.)
1. Curiosity (Almost) Killed the Hell-Cat

Wow! Okay, so it has been a really, really, really long time since I wrote anything. At all, really. And suddenly, inspiration came in the form of Michael Myers, the lovable sociopath. Kind of funny, considering it's Christmas time.

Well, anyway, I just wanted my watchers to know that I'm still alive (yay!) and I will be continuing You're My 42, Fatal Attraction, and I will be posting new stories as time progresses.

But let's focus on the ficlette at hand. Which is below. Check it out!

Halloween (c) John Carpenter

Nightmare on Elm Street (c) Wes Craven

Friday the 13th (c) Sean S. Cunningham

Helen (c) Michael- er, Me...

* * *

"What the hell are you doing?"

As soon as those words were uttered, every part of my body became quick drying cement, the object in my catatonic hands finding itself at my feet. Fear filled the once mobile shell that was my body. I wouldn't be surprised if I had just invented a new state of paralysis.

There was a sniffing sound behind me, and an all too familiar gravelly voice saying, "As much as I love the smell of fear in the morning, I'm more interested in why you're afraid of me." The floorboards directly behind me creaked as new weight shifted on top of them. "And why I would find you in here, with _that_."

A crimson metal claw positioned itself as my side, all too close, pointing at the thing that had been in my possession moments ago, and had been my intention to 'borrow'. I gave a sigh as my rigid body relaxed, knowing that I had been caught red-handed.

I quickly snatched the flimsy object into my hands, muttering the intruder's name and some colorful words. "I thought I smelled charcoal."

A wicked grin flashed across his face as he spoke. "Y'know me too well, Hell. You should feel honored, not so many people have the privilege."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and instead retorted, "Please. I'm the only person in the world who would actually stand having you in their dreams, let alone in their life."

He shrugged, sitting down on a stack of boxes that sank under his weight. He tapped his metal fingers against the cardboard, just light enough not to make marks. At least he was considerate of my stuff.

The only sound in the room was the tapping of his claws, making hollow sounds as it hit the box's edges. I set the thing in my hands on a nearby table, pointedly ignoring his waiting stare.

He made a sound, something between a growl and the clearing of his throat. He was impatient. Always has been, ever since I met him.

Unfortunately, I'm not a very patient person myself. I grumbled, turning to face him. "Well?" I urged for him to get to the point.

He pointed to the item I had smuggled into the room. "Why do you have that? Making it another addition to your love shrine?"

"No!" I responded a little too quickly. Of course, I didn't and never would dictate something as silly as a 'love shrine', but he loved to tease. Especially about _him_.

He smirked, as if he had won already. Smug little burnt bastard

"It's just, I kind of wanted to see…" I left off uncertainly, fighting the urge to blush.

"His face?"

I remained silent, glancing quickly at the mask on the table. In hindsight, it probably wasn't a very good plan. Hell, it definitely wasn't. He was probably fumbling through the house; knife in hand, ready to slit the throat of whoever took it.

"You're one crazy bitch," he remarked with a teasing tone, grinning as if it was a game. "I like that in a woman."

This time, I did roll my eyes, and would have done a lot more had the power not gone out. What followed next sent a chill down my spine.

There was a constant sound, more like a thump-thump-thumping sound. For a moment, I thought it was my heart, but then I realized it was footsteps. Heavy footsteps, and they were ascending the stairs.

"Better run, or there'll be Hell to pay!" Freddy warned, the slightest hint of concern in his voice. For a second, at least. Then he disappeared, leaving me to deal with the rampaging ball of hatred approaching my door.

Holding the mask tightly in my hands, I dove underneath the twin bed, thankful that I hadn't gotten that second pullout bed. Stifling any sound I could make with my hand, I peered out from under the sheets to see two large stained boots come into the room. At which point, I held my breath.

I watched the boots shuffle around the room, the person they belonged to undoubtedly searching high and low for me. I repressed a shudder as they neared the bed, making sure to be absolutely quiet. He always did have perceptive hearing, and I was doing everything I could to maintain a constant state of silence and immobility.

He walked over to the closet, opened it, and peered inside. Once sure that I wasn't in there, he turned and searched in every available crevice, every nook and cranny he could find. He knew I was a small person, thus giving me more places to be found in.

My heart jumped into my throat when he suddenly rounded on the bed, yanking off the covers and throwing them across the room. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to scream as he ransacked the bed sheets. However, once they were removed, I made the mistake of scooting back away from the edge, hoping he hadn't seen me.

The sound the floorboards made felt amplified by the silence, and then time froze. I could hear and feel my heart hammering against my chest and the man not two feet from me 's heavy breathing. The next few seconds felt like eternity. Then time decided to catch up, running faster to make up lost time.

The speed at which Michael flipped over the bed almost matched the time it took to jump up from my position on the floor and make a mad dash for the door.

As fate would have it, the door was not open. In fact, it was locked, as discovered when I tried the doorknob. "Clever, aren't you?!" I shrieked as Michael neared, narrowly dodging the knife that now occupied the space where my head once had. I should've known he would know I would run.

I reached for the knob a second time, working at the lock quickly before throwing open the door, which collided with my oh-so-attentive friend. I slightly cringed, but knew he'd be fine. After all, he's been through worse.

"Jason!" I called out for my housemate, knowing he could at least keep Michael from beheading me. I rather liked where my head was thank you very much.

The pounding of footsteps came after mine, prompting me to flee down the stairs.

"Jaso-HOSHIT!" I yelled as a hand clamped onto the hood of my jacket, yanking me back into a solid body. I thrashed against his powerful grip, knowing full well there was nothing I could do.

Well, maybe not nothing. I lifted my knee into the air, bringing my foot back and making contact between his legs. He doubled over slightly, just enough for him to weaken his hold on me. The force of his hands was still strong, even in their weakened state, but I managed to free myself when I shed my jacket.

However, I had somehow forgotten that I was hanging over the edge of the staircase, and that the only thing keeping me from tumbling down the stairs was Michael. With him unaware of what was happening, I had nothing to stop me from falling. And fall I did.

Pain surged through my body as it connected with each step, bone and flesh bruising against the hard wood. The only thing that ran through my mind other than the pain was the thought that if I didn't break my neck, I would get stabbed to death. Or worse.

As I hit the bottom stair and finally stopped on the floor, I found I hadn't broken anything. Oh, wait. I tried to move my left hand and winced as the bones clacked together. Great.

Footsteps descended the stairs as I pushed myself up on my elbows, trying to move fast but to no avail. My shirt was roughly yanked back, my body whiplashing back with it. The movement was jarring, stunning me for several seconds, and giving him just enough time to constrict my body and limit my movements.

When I regained some awareness, I struggled against his solid grip, only succeeding in giving myself a massive headache. I kicked at his knees, scratched at his arms, but nothing released his hold.

"N-now, Michael," I started, fear prominent in my voice. I tried to come up with an argument, something to stop him from ripping out my throat, but I could find none. I mean, what could I say that would redeem my actions? Sorry for stealing your mask in an attempt to see your face, which you don't want to show to anyone, not even your family? Yeah, great plan.

"U-um, here," I said, raising the mask in my hand. His attention shifted to the mask. Releasing one arm from around my body, while still holding me to him with the other, he took the offered mask from my hand. He then let me go, if only to raise the mask to his face. I turned respectfully away, realizing just how severely I had invaded his privacy.

I waited a few seconds, the sound of rustling fabric having stopped. "Michael? I, um… I'm sorry I took your mask. I know that I shouldn't have taken something like that, and I…" I trailed off, not sure if I should continued. Silence answered back.

Suddenly, I was flipped around and pushed back into a nearby wall all in one powerful motion, my personal space limited to a few centimeters. Michael now faced me head on, hands on either side of my head. My heart thumped against my ribcage, new fear replacing the regret I felt. As my breath came out in two seconds rasps, I noticed something.

Michael hadn't put on his mask. In fact, it was wedged between the wall and his right hand.

I felt extremely uncomfortable, to say the least. Here was the object of my affections, staring me right in the face, not two inches away. None of the fear I felt before compared to the fear I felt now.

"M-Michael?" I asked uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably. He only stared back, and I couldn't help but return it.

Even in the dim light, I could make out some of his features. And his eyes. I always liked them best. Even though Dr. Loomis always said they were dark and void, I would beg to differ. I always thought they were gorgeous, and more expressive than I'd ever seen before. They were unreal… and just beautiful.

I hadn't realized I was staring until Michael's nose brushed against mine. The gesture made me tense with new realization, not being used to such intimate contact.

"Michael…?" My voice came out as a shaky whisper, laced with uncertainty and fear. I was beyond scared out of my mind. What was his intention? Was he just freaking me out or… was he…?

Either option was horrifying.

I was increasingly aware of his lips and how close they were to mine, how his hands had moved to gently caress my face. My own lay limply at my sides, too unsure to try anything. I was at a complete loss as to what to do.

I was saved, whether I wanted to be or not, by another person clearing their throat from across the room. I quickly whipped my head around to see my housemate, who had disappeared for a rather convenient amount of time.

Jason looked at the both of us with something akin to amusement and relief, probably at the prospect that my head was still on my shoulders and blood wasn't gushing from my chest, even though both were nestled between the wall and Michael.

I felt the heat flood in my cheeks, knowing my face must have been glowing red. Michael's hands left them and I felt a slight twinge of sadness, missing the warmth they had and how right they felt against my skin. Oh, good god…

I could only imagine what Jason might be thinking, having caught us in such a precarious position. He probably thought we were… well, you know. Doing things.

I wished I could just sink through the floorboards and hide my embarrassment from the world. Maybe then nothing like this would ever happen again.

I turned to make a hasty retreat, but an arm around my waist stopped me. I looked to Michael, who had put his mask on, probably to hide his face from Jason. He pointedly ignored my waiting stare, his only reply the tightening grip on my waist.

That was new, and new wasn't a good thing. Why was he being open about it? Whatever _it_ was… It was rare, so much so that I felt a little honored that he felt so strongly about it.

But that didn't excuse the embarrassment it had saddled me with. Feeling extremely self-conscious, especially in front of Jason, who was borderline giggling at Michael and I, I quickly slunk out of Michael's hold and sprinted towards my door. Once in the safety of my room, I shut the door, locked it, and rested against the door.

Thoughts scattered about my brain in a whirlwind, revolving around feelings that I'd rather not have and situations I hoped to not live. I massaged my temples, hoping to ease my mind of its burden.

Maybe, possibly it wasn't so much a burden, and maybe I liked thinking about it…. About Michael and I. I'd thought about it before, but…

There was a chance.

Maybe.

And maybe, I wanted to take it.

* * *

This just gives me butterflies, especially at that last bit.

~TerminalClub


	2. Causative Confectionaries

And thus the second chapter, filled with romance, mortal peril, and cupcakes! I apologize for any spelling errors, as it's very early here and I can't bring myself to scan over the entire thing thoroughly.

Michael Myers (c) John Carpenter

Freddy Krueger (c) Wes Craven

Jason Voorhees (c) Sean S. Cunningham

Helen (c) Me

* * *

As I stared into the black depths of fear itself, all manner of creatures most foul writhing within, watching me with startling intensity, clawing at the confines of the invisible walls that contained them, just barely, I popped a piece of cake into my mouth. The act was in complete defiance, something that I had a tendency to do just to spite the very thing I was staring down.

However, the matters at hand were not just for the prospect of annoying the fiend, but to protect what was mine and mine alone. There was no way that I was going to give up what I had spent hours making for my housemate and myself just because the dream demon in my kitchen was being a baby.

"Give me the damn cookie, Hell," he spat, using the oh-so-affectionate pet name he's used for me since I was a kid. It's actually a good sign as opposed to bad, since he only uses my full name when he's really pissed.

"Freddy, for the last time, no! They're for Jason and I," I said sternly, like a mother scolding a child for sticking their hand in the cookie jar before supper. Not that I ever ate regular meals myself, but hey. He shouldn't be stealing my treats that I slaved over all day.

"Helen…" Freddy growled out, sending a shiver down my spine. I mentally groaned. So much for being in the clear.

He swiped at me, an all too predictable move but lethal nonetheless. I quickly sidestepped, his blades tearing a sizable hole in my shirt.

"Asshole." I reached back and grabbed the nearest knife as a means of arming myself. I was pleased to find I had grabbed one of the larger knives, even if it was a little dull around the edges.

It's not like I had a glove with knives welded to it just lying around, or a machete for that matter. Jason refused to let me borrow it after last time. I still don't feel bad about that kid, but I guess impeding on his hunting grounds the way I did put trust issues with my weapon privileges.

Freddy chuckled darkly, making another attempt at my abdomen, thankfully unsuccessful. This continued for a good three minutes; us going back and forth, trying to hit our marks. Then Freddy got a good stab.

I doubled over as two of his blades sank into my left side, my own blade finding itself imbedded in his chest, though admittedly my jab lacked enough force to mortally wound like I had planned.

"…Such an… ass," I mumbled, seething as I felt warm blood blossom from my wound.

"What was that, bitch?" Freddy sneered, leaning in far too close for comfort.

"I said," I began, my voice rising in volume, "you're such an ASS!" Bringing up my leg, I landed a heavy kick to his abdomen, sending him stumbling backwards. The blades slid out in an agonizing fashion, tearing skin as they exited. I clutched my bleeding side, putting a good amount of pressure on the wound.

He just chuckled, marveling at how my blood shined on his razors. "I kind of missed making you suffer. Brings back good memories."

I scoffed, grabbing a large dishcloth from the counter and wedging it between my hand and my side. Good times my ass. I still haven't kicked my coffee addiction.

From my place in the kitchen, I heard the front door open and close, a heavy set of footprints making their way down the hall and towards the kitchen. About a minute later, Jason appeared in the doorway, probably having guessed from the smell I'd be in here.

However, I doubted he expected to find me doubled over in pain with a bloody dishrag pressed to my side while his previous arch rival stands laughing at me two feet away, the later already on the receiving end of his hatred. I could practically see the murderous aura radiating off of him.

"Gotta run. Lots more bigger fish to fry," Freddy said as a good-bye, leaving the two of us alone in the kitchen. I felt sorry for whatever dumb kid fell asleep on Elm Street. Saved his ass, though.

I sighed. Honestly, why did I have to put up with this guy instead of throttling him? Throttling sounded nice.

"Jason?" I called out shakily, gaining his undivided attention. "Could you grab the First-Aid Kit for me?"

Accepting my request, he headed for the bathroom. Gee, what would I do without him? I'm glad we met all those years ago, when he spared my life. I don't know what reason he had for keeping me alive, but I thank my lucky stars it stilled his machete.

As promised, Jason returned with the kit and I took it graciously from his hands. I peeled the bloody corner of my shirt away from the wound, setting myself up on the counter as I did so, and set about treating the wound.

I felt light-headed from the blood I had already lost. I had to work fast and efficiently. I carefully examined my side, feeling my back for an exit wound. Thankfully, there was none, which meant less stitching. I almost shuddered at the thought.

"Jason? I'm…uh, I'm going to need your help now." My voice had lost some of its strength and black dots began to cloud my vision. I kept myself awake well enough, but it was using up a fair amount of strength.

How much blood had I lost? I glanced over to the floor, which had a small blood puddle on the tile, a small trail leading up to the counter, where I was still bleeding. Maybe 0.17 liters? I'm no doctor, so I could be wrong. It didn't seem like much, though. Far from fatal.

"Jason?" I called again, looking over at my housemate. If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked nervous. But that was probably just a trick of my mind from the blood loss. What would he have to be nervous about, besides me in the process of bleeding out on the countertop?

It only occurred to me now that Jason might not know how to treat stab wounds. He probably only knew how to inflict them. I bit back a groan.

"Jason. Please, get help," I urged, the slightest inkling of panic in my voice. No, no. Deep breath. Panicking will only make the blood flow faster, and we don't want that. In, out. In, out.

During my breathing exercises, my housemate had left the room, presumably to follow my instructions. I carefully laid myself down on the countertop, keeping the necessary pressure on the wound. Freddy. Freddy, Freddy, Freddy. You are so going to get it. Just wait until I get patched up, then you'll get your due.

Breaking from my homicidal fantasies, I turned my head to the sound of approaching footsteps. Two sets of footsteps, to be precise. I inclined my head to look at the entryway, seeing not only Jason, but also the man who had tried to kill me just three days ago.

"Hi, Michael," I greeted weakly, my head lolling to the side. Was it just me, or did the kitchen suddenly fill up with helium? Maybe all this blood loss was finally getting to my head.

Michael approached the countertop, eyes scanning over me, the crusted and wet blood that mingled together on my stomach. Maybe it was just my lightheadedness talking, but I could have sworn I detected concern in those eyes. Those, beautiful, black eyes…

I leaned my head backwards, finding it getting increasingly harder to focus on his face. My hands were enveloped in warmth, but that could have just been the blood. However, I could have sworn there were fingers entwined with mine, another hand giving my own a reassuring squeeze.

My side began to tingle. Concentrating on the feeling as best as I could, I realized it was a needle repeatedly piercing my skin. I repressed a shudder. God, I hate needles.

Stiches were always the worst part. Even in my numb stupor, I was increasingly aware of the way the needle pierced my skin and the string sliding through the newly-made hole. The feeling was, quite literally, akin to pins and needles, and it made me squirm every time.

However, this time I did not. Maybe it was only because of the half liter of blood I had lost, or maybe the hand holding mine gave me enough comfort. Either way, I embraced the numbness with all the strength I could muster.

Jason grunted from my other side. Blinking away the blurriness in my eyes, I could make out his outline against the obscure coloring. Wait, if Jason was over there…

Oh.

I turned my head the other way, ignoring the sharp pain in my skull when I did so. Yes, I was right. Michael stood at my wounded side, the rhythmic movement of his arms suggesting he was wholly involved with stitching me up.

Now, I don't know why, or maybe I do and I just don't want to acknowledge the fact, but I felt a lot better knowing he was the one who was helping me. That had to count for something, right? I mean, he wouldn't just be doing this out of the goodness of his heart. That was a flat-out lie.

No, he had come to my rescue of his own accord. Or maybe Jason pushed him into it because he was the only one who knew medicinal aid. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for the silent killers. Both were doing whatever they could to keep me alive, and that was more than I could say for anyone else who had known them. If I had been in the right state, I would have given them both hugs.

I started blinking back tears. If my head were in the right state, I would have blanched at the amount of emotion I was showing. I could be such a girl sometimes, but I suppose when your life is hanging in the balance, you're allowed to be a little teary-eyed. Just don't expect me to be proclaiming my love for him. Them.

The needle was pulled taut, closing the skin together to continue the healing process. I winced, the scabbing flesh tearing slightly. At least the bleeding stopped. I hoped.

The hand that had wrapped itself around mine gave one final squeeze before letting go, the warmth of their fingers immediately missed and leaving my hand in the lonely cold.

I attempted to sit up, but a strong but gentle hand pushed me back down. I looked at the hand, and then followed it towards the arm, then the shoulder, then the stark white mask of Michael. I offered a small smile, muttering a thank you before realizing his hand was still on my chest.

"Er, Michael?" I asked tentatively, fighting to keep the blush from taking over. "You can move your hand now."

He complied, but without missing a beat, he scooped me up into his arms and began to carry me.

"Michael, put me down!" I squeaked. Being relatively short, Michael towered over me by a whopping foot and a half, so I was now six feet off the ground. I squirmed, trying to get out of his arms.

But Michael wasn't having any of it. In fact, his hold tightened around me. Man, this felt familiar…

"Damnit, put me DOWN!" I screeched, beginning to panic. Knowing me for as long as he has, he should have known I did NOT LIKE HEIGHTS. Maybe he was just doing it to mess with me, but it was far from amusing. It would be a shame if I had to add Michael to the "Annihilate Once Able" list.

I was just on the verge of hyperventilating when Michael laid me gently on the couch, being extra careful with my stitches. I quirked an eyebrow at him when he grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it over my body. I quietly thanked him, thinking that this was the strangest display of emotion I'd ever seen from him. In fact, it was the most I'd even seen come from the silent man.

Michael lingered by my side, not doing anything, really. It was almost as if he had run on autopilot and had just realized all that had occurred. It would have almost been funny, as I had never seen him like this, but in light of the circumstances, it wasn't appropriate.

I grabbed a pillow that had been discarded on the floor, fitting it behind my back. "Jason, do you think I could borrow your machete?"

The man in question gave me a skeptical look and crossed his arms, as if to say, _"Are you kidding me? You can hardly move."_

I rolled my eyes. "When I'm able. I promise, I won't go near your camp. I'm just going to make a quick visit to Elm Street."

This caught Michael's attention, as I saw him jerk out of some sort of trance. Had he been staring into space all this time?

The anger that rolled off of him could have surpassed my own. No, wait; it was ten times as intense as mine. In fact, it was such raw, white-hot anger that bellowed forth from him that it scared me out of my wits. Even Jason, whom I could catch a glimpse of from behind Michael, seemed concerned.

Before I could gather my previously lost wits, Michael had made a beeline for the door. I barely caught sight of his large build rushing through the front door. I looked to Jason uncertainly, who was still looking towards the door.

"What was that about?" I called to Jason, who seemed to be just as confused as I.

I didn't learn why Michael had barged out of the house so suddenly, until later that night, when I heard the front door open and close softly in my half-asleep state. I slowly started to sit up, blinking away the bleariness in my eyes. In the hazy blackness, I can make out a large shape against the backdrop of shadows. My initial thought should be that someone is breaking into my home, but I'm either too tired to care or too used to Jason coming in at odd hours in the night.

"Jason…?" I call out to the shape, trying to get a better view.

A hand forces me, not too roughly, to lie back down, mindful of my side, which is thankfully still numb from the narcotics I took earlier. At first, I'm alarmed and try to push the hand off of me, to no avail. Then, I look up the figure above me and see the familiar white mask of the man who I've come to… like.

"Oh. Hi, Michael," I say, a silly smile forming on my face. Maybe it's the narcotics talking, but I feel really warm now that Michael's here. Inside, I mean.

It's at this point that I notice the smear on his mask, and without thinking, I raise a hand to wipe it away.

"What's on your face, Michael…?" I trail off, working my fingers against his smooth cheek. It feels sticky.

He gives no answer, simply staring at me as my hand comes to rest against his mask. I'm not stupid. I know what blood feels like. It's obvious that Michael had just come back from a fresh kill.

But whom did he hurt? As I understood it, only a few of his family members were still alive, and he hadn't known where they were.

I didn't have a chance to ask, as Michael now had my full attention as he lowered his face to mine. For a split second, one silly, nonsensical second, I thought he was going to… well, you know. Our faces were very close, after all, even with his mask separating our lips. So very close.

Then the front door opened again, this time much more loudly, and we pulled apart. Michael directed his gaze to the intruder and I followed it to find none other than Freddy standing in the doorway.

"You!" I growled out, my hands clenching at my sides.

"Save it, Hell," Freddy rasped angrily. "Your boyfriend already got to me."

Of all of what he said, the only thing that registered was the word 'boyfriend', which immediately made me blush. Then everything else processed. "Wait, what?"

It was then that I took in Freddy's stance. One leg bent awkwardly, the other taking the brunt of his weight. He was also breathing heavily. A black trail led up to him from the front door. Blood? Yes, blood.

I looked to Michael, whose attention was focused on Freddy, knife clutched in his hand.

"No matter," Freddy said as he drew near, claws pointed in my direction, "I'm still not done with you, and not even he can protect you when you sleep!"

During his rant, Michael had poised himself to attack Freddy, and he would have too, if not for the incredibly loud bang coming from the stairs. The three of us turned to look as the hallway light came on, revealing a very disgruntled Jason on the steps.

While he didn't say anything, the murderous look in his eyes said it all for him. _Quiet down or you'll all end up in body bags._

"Just as well," I muttered, all three killers' gazes settling on me. "I was in the middle of a good dream, anyway." With a stifled yawn, I laid my head back down on my pillow, trying to get into a comfortable position.

Freddy sneered. "Whatever. If you ugly motherfuckers need your beauty sleep, then by all means, go. I'll be waiting." With a low chuckle, he disappeared, the tension in the room clearing. I'm not entirely sure, but I think Michael sighed.

Jason seemed to leave it at that, satisfied that the dream demon had left. He looked as exhausted as I felt. The half-zombified slasher turned to leave but stopped, as if a thought had just occurred to him. He looked at me, then to Michael and then pointed at me, then above his head to the ceiling.

I couldn't understand it at first, but something passed between the two mute men and Michael nodded in the affirmative, walking over to me. He slipped his arms underneath me and pulled me up into the air, mindful of my stitches. I barely suppressed a squeak of surprise.

I caught sight of Jason as Michael began to carry me up the stairs, a sly twinkle in the eye that I could see. I would have made some nasty remark, but I was too exhausted to come up with something clever, so I just snuggled up close to the warmth at my side.

It seemed like only a couple seconds had passed before I was being lied down in satin sheets. I didn't object, the sheets were soft, but at the same time they were cold. And lonely.

Michael draped the covers over my shoulders and prepared to leave, before my hand shot out from the sheets and fastened it around his wrist. I was barely aware of my actions, but I felt like I had to keep him here.

"Stay with me." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I even thought about them. They shocked the both of us (really just me, but I could have sworn Michael tensed), but it was too late to take them back. "Please," I added hastily.

For a moment, I was afraid he would reject me, but I couldn't help the silly smile that worked its way onto my face when he sat down on the edge of the bed. Somehow, my hand had navigated away from his wrist to his hand and he gave it a soft squeeze. It was a reassurance that he was going to say. A yes.

The smile stayed on my face until sleep began to consume me again, black replacing the sight of Michael's white mask.

"Goodnight, Michael," I whispered, instinctively inching closer to his warm body.

His hand contracted in his way of saying goodnight.

"Love you."

The Sandman worked his way into my brain; the last coherent thought in my head was of deep, black eyes that seemed to go on forever, giving me all the warmth and comfort of home.

* * *

Oh Helen, when will you learn to manage these three?

~TerminalClub


End file.
